


The Proud Man's Contumely: Alternate Scenes: Snape

by Slytherkins



Series: Alternate Scenes - PMC [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherkins/pseuds/Slytherkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angry sex!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proud Man's Contumely: Alternate Scenes: Snape

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Proud Man's Contumely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653705) by [Slytherkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherkins/pseuds/Slytherkins). 



Alternate Chapter 37: More Grief to Hide Than Hate to Utter Love

“Snape,” Harry implored, approaching him, suddenly wanting...he didn't know what. Snape seemed to draw back slightly, and so Harry stopped before the man felt the need to step away. But Harry hadn't wanted to stop. His hands still tingled, still remembered Snape's tender touch. And he had wanted to reach for Snape...as he would have for Remus. He didn't understand the impulse except that he was heartsore and drowning and needed something to cling to. “I can't...” Harry gasped, his tears returning. “I can't lose anyone else. It could be Hermione next or Remus or...”

 _Or it could be Snape._ Harry realized that now that would be a blow just as devastating.

“We have to stop him!”

“And just what do you think we've been attempting to do all these years?” Snape said, exasperated, though he eyed Harry with concern. Harry hugged his arms around his chest and bent at the waist, finding it difficult to breathe. “You are having an anxiety attack. You need a sedative.” Snape brushed past him and Harry only just resisted the impulse to snatch at him as he passed.

“I can't _sleep_ ,” Harry said, properly hyperventilating now. “He has an accomplice inside the Castle and the Headmaster is away!”

“And just what in hell are _you_ meant to do about it!” Snape snapped, then caught himself and reined in his temper. “Drink this bloody potion, Harry, before you fall over," he said thrusting a vial at him, which Harry declined to accept. "The Headmaster is investigating an important matter. And Loraina is not an accomplice!” he added irritably. “We don't yet know anything about what happened to Hagrid.”

“She's a vampire,” Harry said, walking quickly over to the fresh batch of Substisanguinus Snape had bottled earlier that evening and snatching up a vial, shaking it accusingly at him. “And you bloody well knew it! She's working with the enemy!”

“Harry, you're speaking of things about which you know absolutely nothing! You cannot accuse people without _proof_.”

“Proof?” Harry shouted. “She just threatened to rip out my throat!”

“And I can sympathize!” Snape shouted back, having seemingly reached his breaking point. “I've wanted to murder you a thousand times since the day we met! It's a _natural reaction_!”

Harry took the vial in his hand and threw it forcefully against the wall. “Why is it no one ever listens to me?!”

Snape went white with rage. He seized Harry by the front of his shirt and slammed him back into the wall. “I am _not_ the Headmaster and you will _not_ break my things with impunity,” he said, his voice a spitting hiss.

The action had been sudden and disorienting. Snape's face was inches from Harry's, his entire body pinned him to the wall behind them, very like it had in the corridor before. And Harry, riding a wave of grief and anger and desperation, did not have the energy to prevent his body, which had been denied earlier release, from reacting.

Snape did not notice, only saw Harry's stare glaze over and seemed to think the boy was not listening. Not relinquishing his shirt-front, Snape drew back just far enough to slap Harry across the face. It had not been meant to hurt, only to waken him, but that didn't mean it wasn't still violent.

“Snap out of it, Harry. This is a fucking _war_ ,” he snarled, voice low and menacing like the deep throated growl of a big cat, which effected Harry in a wholly unexpected way, and certainly not the one in which Snape had intended. “What did you think happens to people in a war? They die. Many of them. The only thing you should concern yourself with is how not to become one of them!” he whispered fiercely through clenched teeth.

And all Harry could think about, face stinging, heart broken, was how quickly Snape's tenderness had turned to aggression. So quickly Harry began to doubt he'd glimpsed the former at all. All Harry had wanted was to be listened to and to be taken seriously. He'd just lost yet another dear friend. He wanted to be reassured and comforted.

But Harry might have known this man did not comfort. No. This man was not gentle. Not out of caring. He was clinical. Severe. Even at a time like this. Especially at a time like this.

Perhaps gentleness wasn't really what Harry needed anyway. Perhaps...perhaps it wasn't really what he _wanted_. Though, Harry did remember very recently wanting something very specific from this man, and he was in just the mood to take it.

Harry wasn't some helpless little boy any longer. He stood almost as tall as Snape. And to the man's complete surprise, Harry snarled himself and took hold of the Potions Master's own robe front, turning him quickly to reverse their position. Despite their equal size, Harry felt certain the only reason he'd managed it was because Snape was too shocked by the gesture, and Harry took advantage of its lingering by almost violently attacking Snape's mouth with his own.

Snape's shock did not last long, however. He opened his mouth to object (something about hormones) but Harry simply took that opportunity to insert his tongue into Snape's mouth, smothering whatever words he'd meant to hiss.

Harry kissed Snape hungrily, frantically, almost cutting his tongue on the man's sharp, uneven teeth but not letting that slow him as he bunched his fists even deeper in the man's robes. Harry felt Snape's hand on his shoulder, one on his chest. And finally Snape wrenched Harry from his lips, holding him at arm’s length, his hands like claws in Harry’s robes and his expression livid. Harry didn’t flinch, only pushed steadily against the man’s arms with a defiant expression, as if daring him to verbally assault him, to strike him. But just when Harry began to wonder if Snape was too taken aback to respond at all, the man strengthened his grip and tugged Harry sharply back to his mouth, crushing their lips almost painfully together.

Harry clawed at Snape even as the man pressed him bodily backwards, their mouths still tangled, until Harry felt the back of his thighs connect with one of the worktables, noisily disturbing the glass and metal construction assembled on it.

As fevered as his kiss with Remus had been, or his one earlier that evening with Eric, nothing could match Snape in ferocity. Harry was almost certain he was bleeding from somewhere, but it did not slow him. It was almost as if the two were trying to force themselves inside one another. Tongues and teeth and all. Harry’s erection had returned with a fury. And Snape pressed it relentlessly with his thigh.

It was all so sudden, so unexpected...even by Harry, who had initiated it. Gods. This was Snape! But somehow it didn’t feel strange. Just heated and raw and fucking fantastic.

Harry felt the man disentangle one of his hands from Harry’s clothes and burrow in his own pocket for his wand. He relinquished Harry’s lips just long enough to cast a spell. Harry felt something like a breeze whoosh past him, heard the sound of glass breaking, before Snape dropped both his arms to Harry’s waist and lifted the boy onto the now empty table. Harry still hadn’t let go of the man’s robefront.

“Fuck. Snape. What are we doing?” he panted, certain his lips were bruised as they ached when he spoke.

“ _Shut_ _up_ ,” Snape growled, attacking Harry’s mouth again, his hands searching for the hem of Harry’s shirt so he could bury them beneath it. Harry gasped at the same time Snape moaned into his open mouth. He pushed against Snape’s touch, reaching beneath his own shirt to press one of the man’s hands more firmly to his chest and urge the other further south.

Harry watched as Snape closed his eyes, breathing heavily, not fighting as Harry guided him to the front of the boy’s trousers. Harry felt certain that he was pushing things too far too fast, that Snape would snap out of it at any second and drive him away. But he rode the wave of impulse anyway, letting go of Snape’s hand only long enough to hurriedly rip open the fly on his jeans. Then Harry took control again and directed the hand to curl over his newly freed erection.

They both shuddered. The hand on Harry’s chest which had rested, unmoving, as the other had found a home was now moving again, sliding around to circle Harry’s back. It tugged him tightly to the man even as the other hand squeezed Harry’s cock almost painfully.

“Mister Potter,” Snape said in a low, ragged voice, “this is very ill-advised.” Nonetheless, neither hand was still.

“Then stop,” Harry panted, wrapping his legs around the back of Snape’s thighs, pitching him forward into the boy, pitching his mouth within an inch of Harry’s own. Then, as if fighting an irresistible current, Snape slowly leaned forward and they kissed again. And once contact was made it was just as frenzied as before, but now with Snape’s fist firmly around Harry’s prick and Harry grasping hungrily at Snape’s back and shoulders, trying to lift himself up into the strokes when his hips could not seem to buck far enough.

There was chafing and scratching, bruising and biting, gasping and grunting and growling. The wood beneath them complained but they ignored it. Because all that mattered was this heat and this intensity. And just when Harry thought it would eat him alive, would burn him to a cinder; he shuddered. His head dropped to Snape’s shoulder and he gasped as he felt himself empty into the mess of robes and fingers between them.

Harry was undone, his arms too weak to cling, though his fingers tried to hook themselves in Snape’s garments as they fell. Both of them were fighting to draw breath, and Harry fell back away from the man to lay on the table, feeling he might just float away if he wasn’t still firmly pinned to it by Snape’s hips and hand.

“So,” Snape panted sneeringly, wiping his hand on Harry’s shirt...the boy was too sated to care. “That’s it? You’re done?” Harry opened his eyes and cast a confused look at the Potions Master, then was startled as the man took hold of his shirtfront and wrenched him back upright. Snape took hold of Harry’s wrist and pressed his hand to his own still twitching erection, causing Harry to moan. “And what are you going to do about this?” he asked, almost angrily.

Harry looked up at him, grasped at him through the fabric of his slacks, and wanted to kiss the snarling lips again. Harry felt his own lips curl back with the impulse. But instead, he shoved at Snape and slid from the table to his feet. Shoved again to give himself room.  Then locked eyes with the man as he slowly sank to his knees.

This was clearly not the response Snape had expected, because his scowl instantaneously melted and he moaned, seeming to have difficulty breathing as he watched Harry descend. Snape’s hand found its way into Harry’s hair, but still seemed too shocked at this turn of events to do anything but tangle there.

Harry, meanwhile, felt as if his heart was going to burst from his chest. He’d committed to this, but had no earthly idea what he was doing. It showed in the way his hands trembled as he reached up to part the man’s robes, shook almost too hard to open the buttons on Snape’s trousers. The man neither helped nor hindered, only watched Harry with glazed, imploring eyes, looking as if he felt he should stop the boy but couldn’t bring himself.

Finally, after a bit of fumbling, Snape’s cock bobbed free and stared Harry in the face. The boy licked his lips, steeling his will. Then he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, laying it carefully over the man, who moaned loudly and tightened his grip in Harry’s hair.   

It was a strange sensation, this large, hot, throbbing fullness in his mouth. Snape gave occasional, tiny thrusts as if he fought to prevent himself from driving his hardness fully down Harry’s throat. Having no other experience, however, Harry proceeded with just that, taking a deep breath before sinking as far down Snape’s cock as he could before choking. It wasn’t the best of ideas, but it had been his only one. Snape cursed loudly, just as Harry had done earlier in the Alcove. And, apparently guessing (correctly) that Harry did not know what the hell he was doing, Snape held the boy’s head still as he slowly and carefully fucked it.

Harry was relieved to be absolved of most of the responsibility of bringing the man off. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience, but it was less than comfortable. But the ache in his jaw and the occasional gag was well worth the response from Snape, who seemed to be murmuring muted curse words almost continuously as he worked his cock in and out of Harry’s mouth. Feeling certain he could help the process, Harry tightened his lips around the man and sucked gently, feeling his own now-limp cock twitch in response to the moan it elicited from Snape. Emboldened, Harry worked his tongue up and down Snape’s length as he sucked, in opposing direction to the man’s thrusts, until Snape seemed to have difficulty remaining standing and reached to the table for support. The stream of curses reduced itself to a strangled, “Harry _Fuck_ Gods _Harry_.” Finally Snape thrust once, further than before, and held Harry’s head there as he came, moaning, down the back of the boy’s throat. Harry clutched valiantly at Snape’s hips, pressing back only far enough not to choke as the man no longer seemed in control of his actions. It lasted only moments, but it seemed forever. Then Snape abruptly released him and staggered back as Harry sank to a sitting position on the floor, sputtering.

“ _Gods._ Harry...I’m sorry,” Snape gasped, seemingly appalled at himself, reaching down to aid the boy. Harry took the offered hand but waved off the apology, shaking his head. Though, the back of his throat still burned and was too thickly coated to respond. He coughed, fought a wave of nausea, and fell limply against the man.

“Fine,” he rasped. “It’s fine,” he repeated, amazed really at how truly fine it all was. Snape held him carefully, appearing as baffled as Harry was. They stared at each other for quite a while before they drifted back together and kissed again; much, much more gently than before.

Harry cleared his throat, his head swimming. “Well,” he whispered, remembering his open trousers and pulling back to re-situate himself. “So that happened.”

Snape blinked, stowed himself as well and shuffled awkwardly, partially turning his back on the boy. “So it did.”

“...Perhaps,” Harry ventured, stepping tentatively closer once more, “it could happen again sometime?” Harry’s expression betrayed nothing but thin hope. Snape scowled, stared at him for a long while. Then just as Harry felt disappointment settle painfully into his chest, just as the boy started to turn away, the man reached out and drew him the rest of the distance, one hand rising to run a single finger across Harry’s bottom lip, causing the boy to shiver.

“Perhaps it can,” Snape said wonderingly, so softly Harry almost could not catch it. **  
**

But catch it he did. And he smiled.     


End file.
